The Illusionist
by GodivaInBlue
Summary: Alessandra is beautiful, mysterious, a successful Vegas magician with a dark secret and a shadowed past. Will her perfect little world be shattered by the appearance of an unimaginable stranger?
1. Stranger

"Five minutes 'til curtain, Ms. Kalypso, five minutes." Tony's voice crackled over the intercom, giving the traditional warning. In her dressing room, Alessandra sighed. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy doing the show any more, she did, but it was getting tiresome. The crowds were still good, if not the sold-out-month's-in-advance they had been when she debuted. She kept the show fresh, surprising, and she was a perennial local's favorite, but it had been almost eight years. Eight years. Alessandra sighed again, peering into the mirror and slipping in the blue contacts that changed her scarlet irises to a vibrant violet. Offstage, she wore dark brown lenses, much less conspicuous, and in keeping with the air of mystery she cultivated carefully. Keeping everyone guessing was part of the game, one she played very, very well. Of course, most people came to Vegas to have fun and be mystified, so she fit in easily.

She checked her look one last time. Black curls to her waist. Deep ruby gloss that highlighted her full, cupid's-bow mouth. A dusting of iridescent powder glittered over her cheekbones. Amazingly long, dark lashes framed her startling, almond shaped eyes; she had custom falsies made. The black leather jumpsuit, artfully padded, made her waist look smaller and her butt fuller, her chest straining at the front zipper. The stilettos she wore were reinforced with steel shanks, in case of any misstep, which could happen in a dark theatre. She took a couple of deep breaths, not because she needed to, her nerves were rock solid, but more out of habit. And then Michelle was knocking lightly on the door, "Two minutes, Les, two minutes." Alessandra smiled her practiced, mysterious, slightly devious smile, and took her place for curtain.

The show went well, as always, the tricks flowing flawlessly one after the other. After almost eight years, the crew could nearly run the show in their sleep. Alessandra didn't do the usual audience patter other magicians did, she avoided much direct contact, this only deepened the mystery surrounding her. Other than the typical equipment-check type stuff, the only time she was close to the audience was at the opening of the show, her first illusion when she appeared and reappeared with lightning speed at various locations around the auditorium, touching people lightly, startling them. Tonight, there had been something a odd, though. As she had leaned in to breathe into the ear of a tall man seated on the middle aisle, he had turned his head, grinning at her, as if he'd known where she would be. That had never happened before. Alessandra varied her routine nightly, so even her long time crew didn't know exactly where she would show up. They also didn't know how the trick was done, but since magicians guarded their trade secrets jealously, they didn't question. The man had also smelled, well, odd. Different from any human she had ever come in contact with. He was warmer than usual too, as if he were running a high fever. She felt unsettled, off balance for a brief moment, but pushed the feeling aside and went on with her performance.

Now she had time to consider the tall stranger. Her nimble mind had kept tabs on him throughout the show, taking note of his reactions, sizing him up. Big, remarkably so, and well-built. Longish, dark hair, dark complected, Native American, possibly Hawaiian. A brilliant smile and a booming laugh that stood out. An assured manner that bothered Alessandra for some reason she couldn't immediately identify. He had a companion with him, too. A lovely, curly haired young woman that commanded most of his attention even as they watched the show. Both of them appeared to be in their early twenties, probably monied from the way they dressed and carried themselves. She wondered if they were staying at the casino, maybe she could talk to Nando at the front desk and find out who they were.

Les placed her final wig, short, dark and sleek, on the mannequin head, running her fingers through her real hair, shoulder length, red-blonde and baby fine. Growing up, she had never liked her hair. It was flat and lifeless, hanging limply from her scalp, classmates made fun of the color. She had permed and dyed it until it was frizzy and broken. Now, she felt almost protective of it, the most fragile part of her, a remnant of her lost humanity.

There was a hesitant knock at the door, and Michelle, her assistant, poked her head in.

"Uh, Les? Sorry to bother, but there's someone who'd like to meet you. I told him you didn't normally see people, but he's pretty insistent. Do you want me to call security?" Chelle's pretty face was unusually anxious, most autograph seekers were easily put off, there must be something different about this one.

Alessandra knew immediately. Of course. The big dark guy. One of those types used to getting his way and throwing his weight around. Some hotshot young CEO, or maybe a professional athlete, someone not used to getting "No" for an answer. She was a little irked, this was _her_ space, _her_ territory, but a part of her was intrigued. She was curious about this man, a rare feeling, and had been since the top of the show. Something told her she should see him, and she was used to trusting her instincts, they had gotten her out of more than one sticky situation.

"It's ok, Chelle," her smile was warm and forgiving, "give me five minutes, then show him in. He probably just wants a picture or something." She paused for a moment, considering, "let Randall know he's here, just in case." Randall was head of security, a deceptively mild-looking, smallish man with government training, very tight-lipped about his background.

Les wrapped her hair up in a towel, wiping the lipstick from her mouth. She tightened the sash of her red robe, monogrammed in gold, and her now-brown eyes appeared calm and friendly, if a bit reserved. The tightening in her stomach belied her outer cool. Was she feeling, _afraid_? It had been so long since she'd felt that particular emotion, she almost didn't recognize it, and didn't quite believe it. No, not afraid, but definitely on edge. There was something undoubtedly unsettling about this stranger. Well, she would find out what he wanted and deal with it. Maybe he was an agent from Atlantic City, or one of those mega-casinos in Indonesia, they were always looking for fresh talent to keep their well-heeled Chinese clientele happy. If so, he would be disappointed, she wasn't interested in relocating.

There was another knock at the door, heavier this time, and Les opened it with a smile. He stood in the doorway, _huge_, dwarfing her modestly sized dressing room.

"Hello," she said, "I'm Alessandra Kalypso."


	2. Meeting

He regarded her darkly for a long moment before smiling and sticking his hand out in an almost threatening gesture.

"I know who you are." His tone wasn't exactly friendly and his attitude puzzled Les. He wasn't just some celebrity hound, of that she was certain. She was sure she hadn't met him before, and yet he was being very familiar with her. She looked pointedly at his outstretched hand.

"I'm sorry," she inclined her head politely, "I'm a bit of a germophobe, I don't shake hands."

"Of course you don't," his hand tightened briefly into a fist, before relaxing and dropping to his side. He continued staring at her, eyes hooded and giving no clue as to what he was thinking. Les noticed his heat and smell begin to fill the room, and she was suddenly very wary. Maybe this was a mistake, maybe this stranger _did_ mean her harm. Her hand moved slightly toward the panic button concealed on the underside of the make up counter, she knew Randall would be close by, ready to protect her. If it came to it, she knew she could protect herself, but she didn't want to risk exposure unless it was absolutely necessary. She liked her life in Vegas, and she didn't want a big mess to clean up. Scandals were so typical here, but Les was so private, so _boring_, really, that she maintained a great deal of anonymity despite her celebrity status.

She smiled disarmingly, "May I offer you water or soda, Mr.?..." She gestured toward the small fridge.

"Black," he said, "Jacob Black, and no, thank you." His voice ratcheted up Alessandra's wariness a notch; it was a bit too silky, too self-assured. She felt an uncomfortable tingle at the base of her skull, something whispered _Danger! _And then, suddenly, he was smiling brightly, his stance opening up, easing the tension. He handed her a card with his name and a phone number with an unfamiliar area code on it.

"You're very good, aren't you?" He grinned at her, seating himself in an armchair.

"Thank you, Mr. Black," Alessandra said graciously, although she got the feeling he wasn't talking strictly about her performance."I've worked hard to get where I am, and I've been lucky. I'm glad you enjoyed the show." Les turned and fussed with the row of wigs on their fake heads.

"That finale, it's quite something." He was talking about her fire piece, The Phoenix, where she donned a colorful costume designed to look like the mythical bird, and rotated in a column of carefully controlled flame. As the music swelled, the strips of fabric caught fire and burned off her body. Spinning faster and faster, the flames shooting higher, she finally collapsed as the crew rushed forward with extinguishers to put her out. The audience was usually gasping at this point, almost horrified, when she would rise from the stage, streaked with soot and ash, to take her final bow.

"It's fireproof, you know, the bodysuit," she offered by way of explanation, "and my pyrotechnics people are the best."

"Still, it must be difficult in Vegas," Jacob eyed her darkly in the mirror, "what with all the sunshine."

Alessandra froze. Her mind was suddenly screaming, _DANGER!_ and venom flooded her mouth. Every heightened sense was on full alert, her muscles tight, ready to defend against this stranger who seemed to know too much. And yet, she didn't want a bloodbath in her dressing room, even if it could be justified. She forced herself to turn slowly, her eyes meeting his.

"I'm afraid I don't follow, Mr. Black. I'm not a sun worshipper, obviously, I burn too easily. And skin cancer is a serious concern these days." Her tone was light, but she smiled at him again, baring her teeth, hoping he would feel the intimidation most people felt when she stared them down. He met her eyes calmly, didn't flinch, and she noticed a flicker of revulsion cross his handsome face. Who WAS this man?

His eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to say something else, but was cut short by another knock. Michelle didn't wait for a response but bustled in officiously, carrying a tablet. She flashed a courteous smile at Mr. Black, but ignored or was unaware of the tension that filled the room.

"Sorry to interrupt, Les, but Craig would like to know if you minded coming in early tomorrow for a sound and light check, he's having a few issues. Also, Loreli wanted to discuss some modifications to your Phoenix and Liquid Death costumes." Chelle looked at her expectantly. Alessandra could see the unspoken question in her eyes and was momentarily thankful to have such a perceptive assistant.

"Thank you, Chelle, that would be fine. Ask Craig what time he would like me here and let Loreli know I'll meet with her after that. Also, would you contact Dr. Goldman and ask him to please check out Quella? I think she's having a mouth issue." Quella was the black leopard Les used in the show.

Michelle made notes on the tablet and helped herself to a Coke from the small fridge, then perched on the edge of the make up counter. She eyed Jacob Black in a not-unfriendly manner, but one that made it clear she wasn't leaving.

Jacob stood, taking his cue from her behavior. "Well, it was very nice meeting you, Ms. Kalypso," he said, although his tone didn't match his words, "I'll be in touch."

Once he'd left, Michelle looked at Alessandra with puzzlement, her brow knitted in concern, "What was THAT all about?" she asked.

"I don't know, Chelle," Les answered slowly, her fingers twisting around each other in a rare show of anxiety, "I don't know."


	3. Home

Randall insisted on having Alessandra escorted to her car by two of his biggest guys. She didn't put up a fuss, but she was pretty sure Jacob Black wasn't the type to ambush her in the parking garage, he wasn't just some random crazy. No, he was _far_ more dangerous than that. He knew what she was, somehow, although she took exceeding care to hide her true nature and actual identity. There were only three people who even knew her real name. One was gone, one was bound by law, and one was in no position to say anything.

The drive home was slower than usual. Normally, once she was past the outskirts of Vegas, she'd cut the headlights on her '69 Mustang fastback and fly down the highway, turning what was typically a forty-five minute drive into fifteen. But tonight she felt unusually cautious, obeying the speed limit and driving like a normal person would. She didn't want to call any undue attention to herself, although she wasn't exactly sure who might be watching. Her encounter with Jacob Black had left her more shaken than she'd let on to either Michelle or Randall, even though she didn't know exactly why. She kept turning his visit over and over in her mind, replaying it, trying to make sense.

One question dominated her thoughts, _How_ did he know? She'd quickly given up trying to convince herself that he didn't, that he couldn't possibly, and simply accepted that he knew she was _other_. Most people, on some level, realized that she was different, dangerous, but repressed this instinct with reason. After all, believing in monsters was childish, and fearing them, thinking that they were real, could get a person committed. And there was something else. Not only did he recognize her true nature, he wasn't afraid. Even when she'd bared her teeth and stared him down, a tactic that had never failed, he wasn't scared. His attitude had been challenging, almost confrontational.

Alessandra's eyes went wide and the steering wheel groaned in protest as her grip tightened. The realization hit her- Jacob Black was _other_ as well. Not in the same way as her, but something different, something not entirely human. His scent, his heat, his assured manner, even his size, all pointed to his _other_ness.

She turned up the long drive that led to her house, pausing at the tall double gates to punch in the access code. There was a wait while one set opened after the other closed behind her. Her property was enclosed by a high, reinforced fence, topped by a Y configuration and prison-grade razor wire. It wasn't very attractive, it wasn't designed to be. It was intimidating in a military compound kind of way, but it served the dual purpose of keeping people out, while containing the big cats that sometimes roamed. Charged with 5,000 volts of electricity, it was effective as both prison and protection.

The house itself, surrounded by 400 acres of desert landscape, was fairly modest, especially for a Vegas headliner. A four bedroom ranch-style with two car garage, large pool and hot tub. There was also a barn-like structure a short distance away, housing for Quella and Becxos, the black leopard and Bengal tiger used in her show. They spent most of their time housed comfortably at the facilities the casino provided, but the days the show was dark, Les liked to have them close by. She enjoyed letting them roam the property, have the little freedom she could provide, and Becxos liked swimming in the pool.

Les sighed as the garage door closed behind her, then smiled at herself. It wasn't as if all of the breathing excercises she'd practiced over the years made a bit of difference now, when she didn't even need to breathe, but old habits died hard. She could feel the dry burn of thirst deep in the back of her throat. She needed to hunt. Performing, being close to people, was more difficult when she was thirsty, and it had been a while since she'd fed. But with the unexpected and unsettling events of the evening, she didn't feel comfortable going out.

Dropping her purse and keys on the kitchen table, she texted Randall to let him know she got home ok, then went in to the pantry. Concealed in the floor was the entry to the panic room, although "room" didn't really do it justice, it was more like a basement command center. There were several monitors hanging on one wall, displaying various views of the property. Some of the cameras were remote-controlled, a few panned automatically. There was a comfortable couch, as well as several chairs, a refrigerator, and a chest freezer. Les knew the room's designer had thought it overkill for such a small residence, but wasn't going to protest the hefty commission he made.

She went to the fridge, which was stocked with plastic med pouches of thick, red liquid. Their labels read "Blood Bank of Las Vegas." Realizing that hunting wouldn't always be practical, especially if she was going to be relatively sedentary, Les had made an arrangement with a lab tech with a gambling problem. It was amazing what money and a little sweet talk could do. She had a similar arrangement with a local morgue assistant also, although corpse blood was decidedly less palatable than donated. She compared it to the difference between ground beef and generic bologna. Both would feed you, one just tasted better. And fresh blood, straight from the source, that was like a perfectly cooked filet, warm and delicious.

Les popped the rubber plug on a pouch and warmed it briefly in the microwave. Settling herself in a chair, she reviewed the recordings for the past twenty-four hours. She wasn't exactly sure what she was looking for, but, feeling threatened, she wanted reassurance. Fast-forwarding through the black and white footage revealed nothing unusual on the hard drives. A jackrabbit browsed close to the fence, then bounded away with long-legged leaps as it caught the scent of big cat. One of the cameras panned over two riders on horseback as they topped a far ridge. Nothing suspicious. And then a camera picked up something moving on the realtime monitor. Something big.


End file.
